The Only way Out
by INzaneTJ
Summary: A small figure rounded the corner, limping, his ankle and arms all bloody, his face pale. His blond curls were damp with sweat and he let his right hand lean against the wall to support him self. He was too slow. The doors were going to shut. He was so close, yet so far away from being safe. He was as good as dead. Rated T for violence and death (not Newt!).
1. Prologue

Prologue

The doors were sliding shut inch by inch as they always did, but someone had been left behind.

Someone was still out there.

No one believed he would return, yet they stood waiting at the entrance, hoping he would make it.

He was a good kid.

He was important to their cause.

Without him, things would only get more difficult in this hellish life of uncertainty.

There was no sign of him.

He was going to be trapped in the maze that night, left to be torn limb from limb by the horrible creatures.

Greviers.

They would get him for sure.

"Come on," Alby whispered, stared into the maze.

Although he would not admit it, he was afraid the kid would not make it back as well.

The boy was only fifteen, and rather intelligent for his age, but being a runner was by far the most dangerous job out there in the Glade.

He could have done any of the other ones and he would have been safe at that moment.

A small figure rounded the corner, limping, his ankle and arms all bloody, his face pale. His blond curls were damp with sweat and he let his right hand lean against the wall to support him self.

He was too slow.

The doors were going to shut.

He was so close, yet so far away from being safe.

He was as good as dead.

"Come on, Newt! You're almost there, you Shank!" Alby yelled with his dark, cupped hands over his mouth.

Newt gave a blood-curdling scream that sent a chill down the Gladers' spines…and fell limply on his stomach.

His eyes rolled into the back of his head and he dropped his useless weapon.

He was only ten feet away.

"Come on!" several of the watching Gladers screamed at him.

A dark-haired teenager pushed past the large group of boys and bolted past the shutting doors.

He reached Newt, and pulled the kid's arm, shook him.

There was no response.


	2. Chapter 1: The Box Experiment

Chapter 1

The Box Experiment

**A/N: Thank you everyone for reviewing, favoriting, and following this story! I hadn't expected it to be so well-recieved. :) School is crazy, but my semester will end soon, so I will be able to update more often! Yay! :D**

**Review Replies:**

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**ThatsMisterMoletoyou: Don't worry! The regular chapters will be longer! :)**

**guest (Guest): Thank you! :)**

"Okay, you're up, ya' Shank. Get your butt down there, and see if there's a way out," Alby instructed a redhead boy of about sixteen, motioning to the Box.

The teenager nodded, and gripped onto a thick rope made of vines that was held in place on the ground by ten or more of the Gladers.

He peered over the edge into the depths below, unable to fathom where the bottom was. Other boys were packed in a tight circle around it, watching, most anticipating a way of escape.

Newt, who was next to Alby and Redhead, was not convinced. After having thrown various objects down and having everything disappear without any signs of striking the bottom, he was, in truth, worried for the kid's safety.

Who knew what was down there if there even was a bottom?

"We might be going home today, Shank," Newt said and slapped Redhead on the shoulder.

_If there is a bottom to the bloody hole_, he thought, but did not want to frighten the already pale boy.

"Maybe. Do you think we'll get out?" the boy asked, looking at him with moist, green eyes.

"Of course," Newt responded too quickly, but paused. He did not want to give the boy false hope in case it turned out unsuccessful.

"Well, I don't know, but maybe. Now, go down, and we'll bloody find out, won't we?"

Redhead nodded again, fretfully, and lowered himself down, into the dark unknown depths of the Box. Terror seized him, like icy fingers wrapped around his throat, and for a brief moment he forgot to breathe.

The onlookers, except Newt, backed away, and waited. The machinery squeaked, and groaned and the sounds caused boy's heart to leap his mouth, and he heard the sound of a chainsaw down a few feet below. He screamed.

Newt leaned over the entry, watched the boy descend ever so slowly, and gripped the sides of the opening until his knuckles turned white.

For some reason, he had a bad feeling as to how this would turn out, and only dared hope the redhead would be safe.

When the boy was a few yards down, a chainsaw sound pierced the otherwise silent air. Everyone instantly began yelling at once, and the people holding the vines began to yank the rope up.

The chaos was beyond Newt. He only watched in horror as the boy below screamed and strived to climb to safety. His frantic movements only helped throw confusion in the Gladers, and make dragging him up difficult. In split seconds, the screams ceased, were cut off abruptly.

Gladers pressed around the entry, throwing out questions, but the vines had hit a dark spot while being lugged up where no one could make out what had happened.

Newt, on the other hand, saw it all, something that would always haunt him, or so he thought at that moment.

The vine was finally pulled out of the Box, and everyone gaped at a horrendous sight. The redhead was there, or at least the top half of him. Blood gushed out of the waist of the boy, and nothing else was below.

The kid's mouth was agape, what was left of him pale as a sheet of paper. Something had severed him, something that resembled a chainsaw.

Alby muttered something, and then raised his voice. "Someone, go get the Baggers!"

A few of the Gladers took off running, and most walked away, completely silent.

Newt simply sat there, his stomach churning at the sight, and stared at the corpse. He should not have let that kid go down there. He could have at least attempted to convince Alby to keep the boy from doing it.

After all, he was the second in command. It was partially his responsibility to ensure the safety of the Gladers.

At least he believed so. His late lunch forced its acidic self up his throat, out of his mouth.

It spilled onto the grass. He was not afraid of corpses, only the fact that he could have prevented it.

He coughed on the bitter substance violently, and shuddered. Several more times it came before he could get up, right as the Baggers arrived. Alby slapped Newt on the back, but did not say anything for a few moments.

"Don't blame yerself, Shank. He would've died sooner or later anyway. Shuck it!" Alby hissed, and glanced at the corpse the Baggers were carrying off.

"We're going ta' need a new Runner replacement now."

"Yeah…good that," Newt mumbled, and walked away, positive dinner was not an option that night.

Instead, he went to the mapping room, and finished his duties; then went to bed outside immediately afterwards. He slept fitfully, but woke up early, as was required.

It was still dark out when Newt had geared up for another grueling day of running through the maze and mapping it out.

He stood in front of the ivy covered, stone walls, waited for the doors to open, along with the rest of the group. No one spoke.

Both would open any moment now and the perilous task would begin, all over again. The day before yesterday almost ended in disaster. A Greiver had been spotted not too far away from one of the runners. He was killed.

Newt had not known the boy well, but it was clear such things were rather disturbing to such a young individual.

He had claimed that he had grown used to it. He had, in truth, not been too well after several unsuccessful events. He was sick of this. He wanted out right now, as plenty of other runners eventually felt.

The groan of the doors sliding grabbed his attention and he readied him self for the same routine, always hoping it would not be his last. Most likely everyone felt the same.

After it had done its usual, ceremonious opening, Newt and the group bolted past the doors, taking off in different directions of the Maze.

Being rather young, quick, and agile, running for long durations was almost second nature to him; he only hoped he could outrun a Griever if necessary.

An unpleasant feeling never failed to wash over him in the Maze, because he was alone.

He was alone every day, the constant risk producing more than a fair amount of stress as well as concern. Even if all the Gladers came to accompany him, he would not feel at ease, especially after that…incident with the Box, and the redhead.

Newt attempted to shake the thought off, and concentrated on cutting vines with his machete to keep track of where he was headed.

After several hours, he stopped for a quick water break, and a few bites of breakfast. He set off again, this time at a better pace, if possible.

Those Beetle Blades on the wall with their glowing, red lights zoomed in on him with an electric hum. He did not pay them any attention, and kept running, running, running, and running for what seemed an eternity.

The route felt almost the same as yesterday, if not precisely. It was somewhat different at several twists, and turns though, and the second time Newt halted, he heard a noise.

A metallic click and whir, followed by some kind of scrape caught his attention. He froze, the only part of him moving his eyes, scanning the area.

Someone screamed. A hot, sweaty body collided with him, and both boys hit the ground. A black-haired teenager of about thirteen or fourteen got off Newt, and pulled him to his feet.

"Griever," he told him, and clicks came from behind. Both boys turned, and bolted.


	3. Chapter 2: That Bloody Maze

Chapter 2

That Bloody Maze

**A/N: For those of you Minho fans, do not misunderstand this. Newt does not get along with him at first, but both adorable boys will eventually. :)**

**mistystar123: Thank you! :D**

Neither Newt, nor the boy next to him spoke, only pushed their legs to move as quick a pace as possible. Their chances of survival were extremely low, yet not at zero percent.

There was still a sliver of hope left in Newt as he took several turns, followed the vines back toward the doors.

It would take too long. He would have to lose the cursed thing, or be killed, or go through the Changing. He did not know which was worse.

"We…need to…lose it," Newt spoke through raspy breaths.

"Here," the dark-haired boy grabbed Newt's arm, and yanked him into a corner to their right, went through several twists and turns.

Halted. Flattened against the high wall, listened. The Greiver was still too close, with its metallic clicks and whirs.

Suddenly, the noises ceased. The two boys remained motionless for several minutes, yet they heard nothing.

Newt hardly dared to breathe. If it caught them, they would either die, or go through the Changing. The Changing.

He had seen what happened when people were stung, and it was not something he was about to wait for. Newt's eyes traced the wall directly across from him, wondered. Could he climb it?

The kid next to him might be able to, with the help of the vines. He most certainly looked more capable, but that may not have been the case.

The other boy nudged him with his elbow, and pointed to the same wall. Newt nodded a little hesitantly.

"You're up first, Shank," the boy whispered, and pushed his fellow Runner toward it.

Newt stumbled forward, regained his bearings before taking the nearest vine in his hands. He tugged on it to make sure it would be secure.

"No, I think we need to go the other way," Newt said, and let go of the vine.

"Shank, there's a Shuck Griever back there, and I am _not _taking any chances," the other boy responded.

"I am. I want out of the bloody maze, and I want out _now_," Newt protested.

"I am going to tell the Keeper that you compromised our safety. You do as I say, ya' Shank! I'll be sure to report this to Alby when we get back if ya' don't. What's your name?"

"Newt," Newt told him, found it ridiculous to be arguing when danger was near.

He still felt inclined to inquire of the boy's name. "What's yours?"

"What?"

"I'm asking for your bloody name."

"Minho."

"I'll be sure to report you too," Newt added as an afterthought, and walked away from the kid.

"He probably won't come back alive anyway. The Baggers will have him soon," Minho muttered, but Newt caught the words.

The latter shrugged it off, and broke off into a small jog toward where he had come. Sure enough, there were the vines he had cut that morning, and no signs of any Shuck Grievers.

"That thing better be bloody gone." Newt paused, and halted for a moment.

Perhaps he should not have left the other kid to fend for himself. However, that Minho dude did not want any help, so if he was stung or killed by a Griever, it would not be Newt's fault.

He resumed his steady pace down his own path, fear's vice grip loosening every minute. As he made each twist and turn, he knew the doors to the Maze were closer.

It would not be far now. Two more turns left, and he would be out of there. Newt glanced at his watch, and realized the doors were going to close in an hour. He had plenty of time.

_Click. Click. Whir._

He stopped.

Newt whipped around, and found a Griever, only twelve feet away, the same one from before. Its contraptions, spikes, and metal arms popped out of its body.

Each retracted.

It popped out again.

The thing rolled closer to Newt, slowly. The electric whine was enough to bring the boy to a full-fledged run. He turned. Took off. A sizzle. Pop!

There was some sound he could not make out, and he did not want to know. He made the turn. One left. There was only one more turn. He doubted he would make it at all, considering the Greiver sounded nearer.

His shoe caught on something, and at the same time the thing behind him struck. Fortunately for Newt the parts that would have stung him missed, but he still managed to get prodded by one of the contraptions.

Hot pain seared through his back, and he fell forward with a smack on the hard, ivy covered ground.

Blackness found him. Newt did not know what was going on around him for quite some time. He eventually opened his eyes, and found he was still lying on the ground in the Maze.

Groggily, he moved his left arm forward a little bit, but that brought a significant amount of pain to his sticky back.

His head felt like a hammer had imbedded itself in his skull, yet those were the least of his problems.

His leg. It was _bad_.

He attempted to move, but he could barely touch it without enough pain to send him screaming louder than the bloody Maze. The Greiver was nowhere to be found. To make matters worse, sunset was arriving, and the doors began to groan, and…move.


	4. Chapter 3: Two Shuck Doors

Chapter 3

Two Shuck Doors

**A/N: Now, this ****story does need to reveal more of what it's about, so here's a brief explanation:**

**WICKED is planning to test the Gladers again for their reactions. Newt finds out something horrific involving the Maze, but no one believes him. It takes place before Thomas arrives, of course, and Newt will not remember WICKED after a certain duration.**

**Guest: Thank you! You shall see...now!**

_The doors are moving_. _Shutting. Doors. Maze. I'm still in the bloody Maze! _

Newt finally realizes, and moves to get up. Instead, he manages to bring more pain to his injured leg.

_Or not. I won't make it out in time. Shuck it! Might as well try._

* * *

"Count em'…for me…will ya', Shank?" Minho inhales, and puts his hands on his knees.

Alby counts the Runners with his fingers, but finds them short of one. His eyes scan the area, but he cannot find the cute, blond boy anywhere.

"We're missing Newt?" Alby spoke to him self aloud, surprised.

The kid was the most punctual, and the most concerned about safety. An uneasy feeling was in his gut.

"Huh? Is he a dirty blond kid, with a British accent?" Minho asks, catching his breath.

"Yeah, do you know where he is?"

"The Slinthead took the path where the Shuck Greiver was," Minho said, "and I had kindly notified him, he wouldn't make it back."

"Shuck it!" Alby muttered, and strode to the edge of the Maze entrance, right out of the doors' reach.

"Come on," he whispered, stared into the Griever graveyard.

A small figure rounded the corner, limping, his ankle and arms all bloody, his face pale.

His blond hair was damp with sweat and he let his right hand lean against the wall to support him self. He was too slow.

The doors were going to shut. He was so close, yet so far away from being safe. He was as good as dead.

"Come on, Newt! You're almost there, you Shank!" Alby yelled with his dark, cupped hands over his mouth.

Newt gave a blood-curdling scream that sent a chill down the Gladers' spines…and fell limply on his stomach. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and he dropped his useless weapon. He was only ten feet away.

"Come on!" several of the watching Gladers screamed at him.

Minho pushed past the large group of boys and bolted past the shutting doors. He reached Newt, and pulled the kid's arm, shook him. There was no response.

"Come on!" Alby shouted again.

Minho somehow managed to heave Newt onto his back, and make a quick run for it.

Gally, for some odd reason he kept to himself, reached into the Maze between the shutting doors, and grabbed Minho by his blue shirt. He yanked them both in, and they landed in a heap in front of the walls.

Alby, as well as many Gladers breathed heavy sighs of relief, and some left right then. The dark-skinned teenager rushed over to them, saw the damage on his younger friend.

"Someone, get the Shuck Medjacks!" Minho shouted, got off the unconscious boy.

"Newt? Can you hear me? Newt, ya' Shuck-Face?" Alby grabbed his skinny arm, and yelled at him.

"He can't hear Klunk when he's like this, so slim it!" Minho snapped at him.

Alby threw a vicious glance at the younger Runner, and started to pick Newt up.

"Hey, wait for the Medjacks, okay? You might damage him more if you do," Minho said, and noticed Gally walking away. "Hey, why'd you help us?"

"Sorry Shank, maybe I shouldn't have," Gally responded, and walked off without a glance back.

Apparently whether or not Newt made it was none of his concern, or so it seemed at least.

"We can't let the Shank bleed to death at least," Alby muttered, and pulled Newt's shirt off.

He pressed it against the boy's leg, while Minho took care of his back with the kid's brown, undershirt.

The Medjacks arrived in a few minutes, and brought over a rather crude object made of wood, and vines resembling a gurney. No one really knew what to call it, nor did they care.

They soon had Newt in the Homestead, had him in bed, working on bandaging his back, and cleaning the wounds.

Clint had already informed Minho and Alby that he would be fine, but he would have to do something else besides running.

His leg was broken, and setting it properly was not something the Medjacks were capable of with such primitive supplies.

Newt first traced the wood on the bed, slowly, needed to know where he was, and what he was on. He felt something as soft as he could remember beneath his pain-ridden body.

A bed.

_So I must be in the Homestead_, he mused, and held his hand out. A softer, smaller, slender hand takes his gently. He is most certainly curious, but he supposes opening his eyes would not be best.

"Are you awake?" a higher-pitched voice than any he could have recalled hearing spoke.

He needed to open his eyes. He had been lying on his broken leg for far too long, and it was becoming unbearable. He did, and he did not like what he saw.

* * *

"Is he awake?" Minho asked as Clint passed by him at the edge of the quiet Homestead.

"No, I just left him, and he was still asleep. He has had almost of full two-day rest. It'll be good for him, because once he does, he'll wish he hadn't."

"Oh. Let me know when he does."

"I will," Clint smiled and exited the building.

Minho took a quick glance at the winding stairs, afraid for the kid, and turned to leave. A crash followed by something shattering caught his attention, and he whirled around.

He bounded up the steps, Clint right behind. If _anything_ happened to Newt he would _never _forgive himself for what happened in the Maze.

"Wicked! Wicked! No, get away from me! You, go away, now! Wicked is not good! Wicked is wicked!" a voice screamed from the top floor.

Several more shatters and blunt noises filled the Homestead.

Minho and Clint burst through the open doorway, expecting some horrific sight, but all they found was…Newt. He was huddled in a corner, hugging his bloody knees to his chest, his bandages and shirt torn off.

Tears streamed down his face. Scratch marks were on the floor, like they were dragged deadweight, and Newt shook his head in spasms.

"No, Wicked is evil. I told you already. It's not bloody good!" Newt screamed and tucked his head under his arms.

"Newt, what's the matter?" Minho asked, and approached the kid.

"What's Wicked?"

"Nothing…I guess. I…don't remember."

**A/N: What did you think? Please review and thank you for reading! :D**

**Julia**


	5. Chapter 4: One Shuck-Faced Shuck

Chapter 4

One Shuck-Faced Shuck

"What do you mean?" Minho probes.

"Newt? What's the matter?"

"Nothing," Newt responds barely above a whisper.

"Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing. It's bloody nothing."

"Okay, then do you want to go back to bed?" Minho asks.

"Yeah."

* * *

"What do ya think is wrong with the Shank?"

A pale-faced Clint shuts the door of the Homestead, and turns to face the young Runner.

He sighs, and points at a Beatle-Blade scuttling up the wall.

"What do you think?" he replies, and crosses his arms, and faces the Asian boy. "Look, like everyone is always saying, _we don't know_."

Without a word, Minho stalks off, his sneakers crunching on the grass.

No one knows anything.

Great!

Here comes another freaky problem the Creators threw in for them.

The Griever didn't sting Newt, but something definitely happened.

The question is: what?

Later on, Alby called a Gathering with the Keepers about Gally, and the recent incidents that have taken place.

Minho attended rather reluctantly.

There is this awkwardly empty seat where Newt would have been, having a lecture about _order _again most likely.

Sure, Gally pulled them both out of the Maze, but he broke their number one rule.

That did not settle too well with the Gladers, especially since many of them greatly dislike him, including Minho.

The votes all went to locking Gally's butt in the Slammer for two weeks, in which there was strong disagreement.

Banishment was another option.

Excessive.

Throwing him off the Cliff was part of Winston's recommendation.

Unnecessary

Minho voted for the Slammer.

Logical.

After all, it was the lightest punishment in the Glade.

Gally, as expected, felt inclined to disagree yet he was out voted.

He called them all _Shuck-Faced Shucks_, and was taken to his little residence after the Gathering ended.

**Homestead:**

Newt wakes up for the umpteenth time since he attempted to sleep.

Minho tried visiting him, but he refused to see him.

Something isn't right, but has anything ever been since arriving in the Shuck place?

Nope.

Being incapable of working is driving Newt ballistic.

Every time Clint checks on him, he states various reasons as to why he ought to be contributing to the Glade.

Order.

Order is what keeps them alive.

It's what makes things work around here.

Clint props open the door again, finding sheets covering Newt, who is sitting on the edge of his bed.

Silent.

"Newt?" Clint says.

Unresponsive.

"Newt?" Clint tries again, slowly approaching the lump of messy sheets.

Strange.

Newt never leaves things a mess, even when using something.

Clint pulls the sheet away, and finds an empty bed.

He stares for a moment, slightly confused; then rushes to the window, and peers outside, down below.

Newt is nowhere in sight, but there is no way that he could have jumped from that height, much have taken off in his condition.

Something is wrong.


	6. Chapter 5: WICKED is Good, and AN

**A/N: I am going to finish this up later on. This hasn't worked the way I intended it to be, so the next part of this FF will be called: The Only Way Out: Part 2. Thank you for reading this. I have inspiration for another story called, The TG Virus. I'll finish this afterwards.**

Chapter 5

WICKED is Good

Upon hearing Clint's panicky voice shouting like a sissy, Alby and Minho are instantly in the Homestead, demanding to know what's going on.

"I've been checking on Newt every hour, and just now I found that he's gone," Clint responds to the boy's questions.

"But why?" Minho asks, "He couldn't have even walked across the room, much less leave the Shuck Homestead!"

"Do you think I know?" Clint retorts.

"Then what are you Shanks waiting for?" Alby snaps, clearly concerned.

"Let's look for him! Get all the Gladers to help!"

**WICKED**

That's the only thing Newt can think of while drifting between consciousness and unconsciousness.

WICKED.

WICKED is good.


End file.
